


Before the Winter

by LLewtwo



Series: Then Winter Came [1]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Winter Soldier (Comics)
Genre: Awesome Howling Commandos, Bucky Is a Good Bro, F/M, Gen, M/M, Other, Pre-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Protective Bucky Barnes, Terrible wizarding families, The Wizarding World, Wizarding Culture (Harry Potter), Wizarding Politics (Harry Potter), World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:07:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24582793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LLewtwo/pseuds/LLewtwo
Summary: It's so funny what you remember and what you don't.Bucky remembers living in a giant old house, even though he also remembers his father was a drunkard.He remembers nothing between an overheard conversation and ending up in the orphanage.One thing is for certain though, even if his memories aren't.  Bucky will build a life for himself.  He will build a life. He will build a family.  And he will protect it even if he's called to war.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Rebecca Barnes Proctor & Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Series: Then Winter Came [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1776883
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	Before the Winter

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't help but wonder how two people from Brooklyn could be two of the few people who the super soldier serum worked on, if only to a partial degree. Then I thought, well what if the reason behind it working was because of either latent or residual magic. Latent magic on Bucky's part, all unknowing, and residual magic on Steve's part, from Bucky's desire to protect him. If the HP universe taught us anything after all, it's that magic is at least 50% intent.
> 
> IN any case. This brain worm was the result. Originally this was going to be set much further into the Winter Soldier timeline, but I felt this background needed to be established. I leave this here in the hope that enough people will enjoy this and I'll find the motivation to finish the rest of the series at some point. I do have PLANS. In the meantime, enjoy! (hopefully) and let me know if you find any glaring errors (and what you think!) 
> 
> Thanks again to Popjeckdoom for being willing to beta and roast the hell out of me, and argue me out of stupidity. :) 
> 
> PLEASE pay attention to the dates. It does jump a bit in linear time, so it is sort-of important.

**March 14, 1942, Brooklyn, New York, USA**

Nursing a hangover, Bucky strains to see around the crowd. Steve would surely come, wouldn’t he? Had he done something stupid and made him mad? Dropping his duffle on the ground, he climbs halfway up one of the fences to see if he can get a better look. “Stevie!” He yells over the crowd, although he probably can’t be heard regardless. 

No answer. 

Damn.

He drops back down to the ground and shoulders his pack, trying to ignore his throbbing head and the aches all over. Must have gotten in a fight last night. For a moment, he can remember a flash of an angry Steve, and a shiver of dread runs over him. What had happened? Was Becca there? Oh.  _ Becca was there _ .  _ Mad _ Becca was there. His head pounds while he tries to force the memories from the fog. Hopefully he’s fine. Hopefully he did as much as he could and Steve would be ok. Even if he doesn’t get to see him again. 

Obviously he had been drinking. Oh!  _ That’s right, _ the bottles from the trunk. Becca had chewed him out for dosing Steve with medicine when he wasn’t sure what it would do, but he seems fine. 

_Seemed_ fine. Where was he?

“Everyone on the buses! Time to go!” A chorus of groans greets this announcement, as well as a smattering of tears throughout the crowd. He’s about to turn to join the line when he hears a loud, “James Buchanan Barnes! I swear if you don’t look this way you’ll regret it!”

“Yeah Bucky! Listen to your sister!” Steve calls as they squeeze through the crowd. Bucky is greeted a moment later by a kiss on the cheek from his sister and a hug from Steve, and he is breathless with relief. He’s ok. Nothing went wrong. They came. “Thank you!” He says to his sister, who just smiles.

“You better write to me Bucky. And your sister. And take care of yourself, you hear?” Steve grits out, his jaw set. 

Bucky could tell he was still in trouble, Steve upset, but mostly he just felt happy they had come. “I will.” With a last quick hug for both, he gets on the bus, and is on his way to war. He’ll be fine. 

He’ll be fine.

* * *

**Six Years Earlier**

**November 1936, Brooklyn, New York, USA**

Watching Stevie fretfully sleep, restless with fever, Bucky realizes that he needs to find work soon. It’s already been a bit over a month since the funeral, and things had settled into a bit of a routine, if one tight on the belt and the wallet. Steve had just lost another job a month to the day after his mother’s death. Things at the docks had started to wind down with the season, and rent must still be paid. 

_ Damn it.  _

Stevie is sick again, too, on top of everything, but he’ll find something. He always does. At least he hadn't put up too much of a fight about him moving in. 

But they’re nearly out of food.

His mind runs in circles as he listens to the uneven breaths inside the room. Quietly rising from the chair, he goes into the kitchen and lights a candle. Cheaper than electric. It’s only a moment later that he’s gathered some paper and a pen, and pulled the wooden chair out to sit in with a scrape against the tile floor. He pauses for a moment to make sure the noise didn’t wake Steve, and then sits down. Smoothing the sheet with one hand against the wood table surface, he puts pen to paper and starts to organize his thoughts:

  1. Work 
  2. Food
  3. Medicine
  4. Rent
  5. Bills



His thoughts trail off into the past as he tries to plan. Poor Steve. At least when his own mother died, they’d already been separated for a few years. She tried her best though. He knows it - just hard for a widow to provide for 3 children. At least he’d had Stevie and his ma after he ran into him downtown. They’d become fast friends after he’d pulled him out of the scrape he was in with those bullies. 

Just in time to be pulled back in by something else. Seems to be a recurring theme with Steve. He just can’t leave well enough alone.

He quirks a smile at his own thoughts, leaning his head against one hand as he idly doodles on the paper next to his list. Family is such an odd thing. Sometimes you find it for yourself. Although his sister is a good sort. Good heavens, ‘Becca. He should write to her. It’s been such a long time.

‘Becca had never left him, not really. She came back for him. Suddenly, he misses his mother, and he blinks the sharpness away from his still closed eyes, taking a long breath and then lifting his head to stare sightless at the table. His Mom had tried. Better than his old man had ever done. He’s _ sure  _ she tried. Even if he still feels like he’s trying to convince himself. 

He can remember his mom talking to someone she said was her uncle, after Pop drank himself to death. He was listening in from the hallway, an accidental eavesdropper when he’d gone to get a glass of water and paused at the base of the stairs when he’d heard voices.

“He’s shown no sign. It’s better if he’s with  _ them _ , then us.” His mother had said.

His great uncle’s deep voice answered, “You’re sure? Once you cast it, there isn’t any going back. It won’t be the same if you tried.”

“Yes. It’s not like he’ll remember it anyway. He just thinks Rebecca is being sent to boarding school.” His mother had paused, then continued with a wistful tone, “It’ll be easier if he doesn’t remember the rest.”

It was only a few days later and he was at the orphanage, or .... Though things were a bit jumbled up in his head. But it was later that winter when he realized what he’d been missing each day. He had received a letter when his youngest sister died with TB, from his mother. She begged his forgiveness, but turns out she died soon after, and that was it. He barely remembered them.

It is so odd what you remember and what you don’t. He can remember an overheard conversation, but not what happened for months before then, and nothing at all between that conversation and his first few months at the orphanage. He doesn’t even remember what his great uncle looked like besides dark hair and a weird robe that reminded him of a judge. 

Turns out he found out he was an orphan before his sister did. ‘Becca had come to the orphanage looking for him. She had returned for the summer to find out there wasn’t anyone home.

_Damn_ , he needs sleep. He rubs his eyes with one hand then glances back to the dark hallway and his sleeping friend. Can’t sleep yet. Need a plan first. 

He exhales, tapping his pencil repetitively against the hard surface, leaving little black marks around his drawing of a broom and doodle of an odd, walking leafy stick creature. Maybe he should write to ‘Becca. Maybe she’d know of work near her fancy school. She’s supposed to graduate soon, isn’t she? He can’t remember exactly how long she’s been away at her swanky school. Hopefully she’d have somewhere to go. She could come back here to Steve’s place…But he’s taking care of Stevie. He Promised. End of the Line. 

Focus Bucky, Focus.

  1. Work - Dockwork? Grocer or Delivery? Tutoring?



‘Check the paper’, he writes, underlines, and circles for good measure. He’ll have to find a nickel to get a paper. Maybe he could sell papers? 

Bucky’s thoughts are interrupted by a hacking cough from down the hall, and he rises quickly to check on Stevie. 

He’s just got to be okay. He’s just gotta. He can’t lose Stevie too. 

  
  


* * *

_ January 14th, 1940 _

_ Dear James, _

_ It was good to see you at Christmas. Thank you for letting me visit you and Steven. Please apologize for me again, I hadn’t intended to knock him down while we were skating. I do hope his arm heals quickly and I’m glad it wasn’t broken! And, I’d like to add that I was right when I said it was just a sprain. Just putting that out there.  _

_ I’m afraid I don’t have any more of the bruise tincture. I’d have to go back to the apothecary for more supplies. Let me know if you really think you’ll need it though. I’m happy it helped. It doesn’t work for everyone. _

_ Classes are going well, for the most part. The infirmary is letting me take extra hours for practical experience. I am hoping it will allow me to improve my final scores, so that I can get a good internship. _

_ With Steve though, I can see now why you want to protect him. He’s like a lost puppy. One that jumps at the fence and snarls when you get too close. I think he’s good for you. I know you just snorted to yourself, but hear me out. When he is around, it seems to force you to think things through for the both of you. You’re kinder, and less prone to idiocy. Most of the time at least. I think he forces you to be better, so that he has someone to rely on. I think you are admirable in that, dear brother. _

_ I do have a bit of a caveat to add, however. Why did you start fighting for prize money? I don’t like the idea of you boxing - what if you get seriously hurt? But I know you will do what you feel is best regardless of my opinion. Just stay safe, and take care of yourself. And listen to Steve. He’s mostly sensible right? I think he’ll help ground you in reality so you don’t get a big head!  _

_ It is odd to think this is my last Christmas here. Just a few more months, some exams, and then I’ll have to find my way in the wide world. Everything has been so intense lately. There is talk of very little but the war overseas, and many of my classmates have either been pulled from school or are planning to go to Europe and enlist, having distant family that are involved. The stance of neutrality here seems to garner more anger than anything. The hallways are almost empty some days. It is my last year regardless though, so I suppose I should get used to the idea of not being at school. Surely the war will end soon, and things will go back to normal. _

_ I have enclosed a small amount from my allowance. I know it’s not a lot, but I am limited in what I am allowed to withdraw before I get my mastery. It was one of the requirements of Uncle allowing me to attend the program. I hope it will help tide you over for the month, but I agree that moving to a smaller apartment may be wise. Neither of you have much, but it would still be less expensive to rent a smaller place. I can ask around to see if any of my friends have family looking to rent if you like? I know that you said you don’t want to go back to our family home, but it is there, and empty, should you choose to move in for a while. I wouldn’t begrudge you the space, and it wouldn’t be putting me out any.  _

_ In any case, as I mentioned school has been going well. I should have a recommendation for further study by the time I graduate, and at least a start on my apprenticeship with the healers that I mentioned. Perhaps I could even help with the war effort once I graduate!  _

_ I miss you already. Please write and let me know if you and Steve are doing well, and I look forward to when we see each other again. _

_ And don’t you dare run off to do anything rash. Things will be alright.  _

_ Your best sister! _

_ Rebecca  _

* * *

**Summer 1940**

Steve could tell that Bucky was both happy to see his sister, and still wishing he could be anywhere else. He was working on making some of his Ma’s famous cookies to hopefully cheer everyone up after the worst was over. Bucky had already been hit twice in the arm by his loving sibling- once for fighting, and once when she found out he didn’t even win that fight.

Cookies are definitely needed. Or a drink. That and to celebrate her apprenticeship graduation or something. Who knows how all that works.

An inarticulate groan of complaint escaped Bucky’s lips,  _ “Uuuugh. _ Why? You know I hate that place.”

“I know James, but if you don’t help me, who will? You know I rely on you as my strong-armed older brother! Who else am I going to get to go through all of Mom’s old stuff. I need to clear the house before I move back in so it’s not a trip for biscuits.” 

Steve glanced back at the table and saw that ‘Becca had her innocent pleading face on. Steve snorted, he could already tell how this was going to go. 

Rebecca shot him a quelling look before turning back to her brother. “It’s been  _ years _ \- and you know I don’t want to face cleaning that place on my own. I’ll give you half the proceeds of the sale?” Her voice shifted to wheedling near the end, with a hint of a smile. She could tell she’d already won.

“Fine. I’ll help. But I get to pick some stuff to keep myself. We could use some new furniture.”

Steve flinched to himself. He worked, but Bucky always was able to bring in more than him. It was much easier to keep a job if you don't collapse from too much effort or get sick from every little thing that came through. He pulls the latest batch of cookies from the oven and puts the pan down with a loud clatter and more force than really necessary. He doesn’t like being reminded that he’s pretty much useless.

Bucky glances over at him and then quickly back to Becca, “Aaand I am going to need Steve to help me go through some things and keep it organized. You know I’m nuts at that.”

He turns pleading eyes on Steve, who knows what he’s doing but appreciates it anyway. “Yeah yeah, I’ll help out, but you should bring stuff here for me to sort through. I have a tutoring gig this week.”

Becca looks strangely nervous and shoots a look at Bucky like she’s trying to communicate something. He just raises an eyebrow and shrugs. She sighs but flashes a smile at them both anyway, “Thanks. I’ll...I’ll get things arranged for later this week then.”

* * *

Even though it was early in the morning, the heat was already radiating up from the stoop when Steve opened the door. “Morning ‘Becca - one moment.” Steve half turned, and then yelled up the stairs, startling some nearby pigeons. “Hey Buck! Your sister is here!” He turned back to invite her inside. Come in and take a breather?” He shifted aside, gesturing welcomingly, “I have some tea in the icebox.”

“Thanks! I need to get back to the house, though. Tell James I need his help again tomorrow for some of the larger items? Can you both handle it from here?”

He was surprised to notice a table, two chairs, and two large trunks sitting next to the door. “Ah, sure. We’ll take a bash at it.” He smiled “Thanks again, I know Bucky is really keen to have you back in town.”

She grants him a broad honest grin, and waves and calls over her shoulder as she starts to head back down the stairs, “I’ll see him tomorrow!”

Steve considers the furniture as Bucky comes down the stairs and walks up behind him. “She run off already?” he says as he slips past him and down the front steps a bit, yelling after his sister, “Off so soon?”

“Tomorrow James!” he can hear her yell as she turns the corner out of sight. 

“Well I guess we should get it inside before it walks off.” He says, looking over at the furniture. Going over to one of the chairs, Bucky swings it over a shoulder and wonders at the rest. “Who did she have helping her with all this?” He asks Steve, who thoughtfully considers the empty street corner. 

“Not sure.” he replies, “It was all here with her when I opened the door.”

With a resigned sigh and a wipe of his already sweating brow, Bucky turns to Steve. “Well, if you get the other chair, I’ll get the table. I can come back for the rest?”

With a bit of grunting, creative maneuvering, and a lot of sweating (and swearing); they get the chairs and new table into the kitchen. Bucky shoots Steve with a concerned glance when he starts gasping and sits him down with a glass of water to take a break while he brings the rest of it inside. 

After catching his breath, Steve insists he hold the door open while Bucky maneuvers the last trunk through. Bucky is trying to squeeze past him and into the hallway when he trips over Steve and they both go down. The heavy trunk thankfully slams against the brick wall and not on top of either of them, although they are pelted with a shower of books and random odds and ends as the trunk bounces out of Bucky’s grip with the impact and then skids along the floor. 

Ignoring the mess, Bucky gets up and reaches a hand to Steve, “You ok Stevie?”

“Yeah, I’m..” he coughs a few times, and finally rolls to his hands and knees and brushes himself off before he continues, “Sorry, just - “ he takes the offered hand and stands before looking at the mess with an expression both irritated and mortified. “I’m fine.” 

“No harm done. How about you go get us some cool drinks and I’ll clean this up?”

“Yeah, okay. I’ll be in the kitchen, sorry again Bucky.” Steve heads off, obviously still a bit upset, even if it isn’t his fault, and Bucky slumps back against the wall. He is both relieved that Steve is ok, and starting to feel the sting of his arm which scraped along the brickwork when he fell. With a sigh he pulls the trunk back upright, and starts collecting items and throwing them back inside. 

“You’d think it’s full of rocks or something. But no, just an entire library. Damn, never knew Ma had so many books...and...things.” He mutters. This last is said as he picks up a large dented...soup pot? Some kind of silver-like pot. He tosses it in with the rest. Once the books and things are back inside, he drags it down the hall, shoving it unceremoniously under the window in the living room. “Hey Stevie! It’s under the window in here whenever you want to take a look. The latch is broke, so don’t worry if it doesn’t close!”

Going back into the hallway, he closes the front door. He winces mentally at the scrape in the floor from the trunk impact, and crouches to test its depth with his fingertips. Superficial. He should be able to sand it out. 

Straightening up with a groan, he goes through the exterior rooms opening as many windows as he can in hope of at least a bit of breeze before he has to get back to work. Eventually he joins a sullen looking Steve in the kitchen, nursing a glass of iced tea. There is a beaded glass waiting for him, and he gratefully scoops it up as he flops into one of the new chairs. “Ah - when did I need to help Becca out tomorrow?”

Steve places his glass back on the table, and shrugs, “She didn’t specify.” 

“Well. I hope she has more help than just me.” He takes a long drink, almost emptying the glass. “I’m beat. Don’t worry about the floor though. Give me a tick and I’ll go find some sandpaper and get it smoothed out.”

* * *

Before helping Becca out, It had been years since he’d been to the house. By choice. He hated this place. Full of bad memories when he remembered anything, and spiders. He sighed, and grumbled a bit under his breath about letting his sister talk him into anything like this in the future. He always caves. She’s his family. Her and Stevie. 

Going up the ridiculously long walk to the large double doors, he rings the bell. Impatiently shifting his weight, he’s already partially turned away from the door when it finally opens. Becca is dressed in nice but sensible clothes, her hair pulled back from her face. He can’t help but smile to see her, and she greets him with a hug and a muffled, “You’re actually on time,” into his shoulder. 

He grimaces, “I’m usually on time,” and walks into the gloom of the entryway. She just shoots him a look and snorts. 

She puts her hands on her hips and looks about the dusty room, before focusing back onto him, “Well. So. I have a number of people coming later to pick up items for the auction. They said they would take items out to the truck, but we have to get them out of the house and onto the lawn.” She shifts smoothing her already smooth hair in an absent habit, and glances at the stairway leading upstairs, “I already pulled down the family art and sent it off to Uncle so don’t worry about that, the rest of the art can go.” She shoots him a grin, “And I think I caught everything that’s cursed so that shouldn’t be an issue either.”

He laughs startled, “Cursed. The whole house is cursed.”

“It’s my home now, be nice!” She half shoves him and then gestures to one of the doorways, “North wing is ready to be emptied, just leave the stuff in the study - didn’t have time to go through that. South wing I’ll handle. Kitchen stays, and I’ll worry about the attic and basement later.

“Aye aye.” He salutes her and she snorts again before he starts up the stairwell, “Guess I’ll start today with the ballroom and gallery then. He pauses, looking back, “Please tell me you have someone else coming to deal with the piano?”

She grins, “Keeping it.”

“Great.” He groans, expecting at some point in the day to hear creepy music, because it would just go right along with the house.

Later that day, once again sweaty, tired, and hungry, he’s thinking the furniture and keepsakes they'd gained weren't worth a few days of helping clean stuff out of this monstrosity of a house. He had realized yesterday part way through cleaning that the hallway he was in was familiar, but the room he thought might have been his was just a guest room. He still felt like he’d been doing something forbidden even being here at all.

He shivers, trying to shake the ever present dread of this awful place. Finally he sits down gingerly on the bench in the entryway, feeling the aches and scrapes from the day before as well as the exhaustion of a long day of manual work. “Is that it Bekks? Nothing else you want re-arranged?”

Rebecca’s eyes flash with mischief as she sits down beside him, “Oh, well there is still the west sitting room…”

Bucky groans and starts to stand before he notices the look on her face, and he half-heartedly shoves her with a “Brat!” while she laughs. 

“Nah, thanks for the help I couldn’t have faced it all without you.” She smiles genuinely, and Bucky can’t help but smile back. “Anything for my best sister.”

Becca seems as tired as Bucky feels. He watches the smile leave her face as she leans against the wall behind them and closes her eyes for a moment. “I think that’s it at least,” she adds, shifting into her business voice. “I’ve put an add in the paper for the sale. The auction house said they’d donate whatever they can’t sell. I’ll send over the money once I get the proceeds check back from them.”

Bucky's smile slips a bit. “You don’t have to do that you know. I would have helped you regardless, Becca.”

She reaches out and grapes his arm reassuringly, “I know. A promise is a promise though, and I promised you half. You know I don’t need it.”

“But we already owe you so much, with everything you’ve sent.” His discomfort is obvious in his tone and he stiffens up. He’s always hated having to rely on whatever his sister could send them. What kind of man is he if he has to beg for scraps? His sister never complained, and it’s made it possible for them to make rent and eat. Some months more than others. He still didn’t like it. Even though he loved her for it too.

Unfortunately, he still liked to eat, and Steve kept getting sick. 

“Nonsense. Who said you could keep track? You’re family.” She squeezes his arm again, watching his face, and then smacks him on the shoulder.

“Hey!” What’s that for?” he whines a little, rubbing his shoulder. She hits harder than he remembers…from yesterday.

“Don’t be an idiot. Family is family. I will help when I can and right now I can help. You just helped me all day, didn’t you?” She lectures him while she stands, extending a hand to help him up from the bench. He’s grateful, he is. But for some reason he also feels upset at this.

They grab some water, which he can feel dispersing into his body as he drinks, and she waves him off when he offers to stay and help sort the rest.

It isn’t until he gets home, light shining into the gloom of the summer night from the windows, when he starts to understand. He goes inside, and is met with his sunshine smile by Steve who is once again searching through the paper for some odd jobs. A pencil is stuck behind one of his too big ears. Suddenly Bucky realizes the feeling he’d had at Becca’s insistence in helping out must be what Steve feels every day. Steve looks at him funny when Bucky gives him a grin and a sideways hug, “You know I’d do anything for you, right?”

“Riiight- Bucky, what did you do?” Steve asks with a bit of a worried tone.

Bucky just laughs and goes to bathe, leaving an even more confused Steve behind in his wake.

* * *

**Fall 1940**

That fall, feeling a bit curious and bored, Bucky flips open the trunk under the window and sits on the floor in front of it. He can see the complete jumble of objects, and the smell of something sharp and acrid raises from the interior. If it was organized at some point, it isn’t any longer. “Did you go through this already, Steve?” he yells over his shoulder. There is silence, and he remembers Steve got a job, so he’ll be out for the day. 

He begins pulling out books and stacking them by size, and is surprised when he picks up an album and a picture slides out and falls into his lap. He’s already opened the album and flipped a few pages looking for the blank spot before he realizes that some of the pictures are moving. 

Moving. 

The pictures are moving.

Does he have a fever? Is he drunk? After running through possible explanations in his head, he realizes there is an uncomfortable tightness behind his eyes when he’s trying to figure out the why behind moving pictures. He tries to focus on the photograph, fighting the feeling of doing something forbidden, and turning it over he reads the caption; ‘Marcus and Alstroemeria (Anna), January 1916, Ilvermorny.’ He turns it again in his hand, watching a younger version of his mother blush when this “Marcus” kisses her hand and they both smile at the camera. 

Who...why? This was only a year or so before he was born. Who was Marcus? 

Ignoring for a moment that the picture is moving, he puts it back in the space it slipped from and closes the book, setting it aside. He has a few large stacks of books of various sizes, a loose sock, and some women’s dress gloves. He even has a silver colored metal pot and a feather fan. He had learned not to drag his fingers along the bottom of the trunk, when earlier he sliced himself on some broken glass. 

He carefully reaches inside the trunk, feeling just above the bottom for additional objects. Brushing something, he pulls out a short, carved piece of dark wood and feels a tingle run down his arm like he’s touched a split wire. He gives a short yelp, shaking his arm and dropping the odd stick. He carefully picks it back up, and he isn’t sure why, but he waves it a bit and is greeted by a quick spray of gold sparks.

Oh! This must be one of those carnival toys like those cap guns. He turns it about trying to figure out how it works, but eventually sets it aside. 

He can hear someone come inside, and by the sneezing at the change in temperature, must be Steve. “I’m in the living room!” he calls while he digs back into the trunk. He finds two open cases with a bunch of small compartments. Some of the first hold little glass jars with various liquids, and other slots are empty. The next case is similar with packets of various things like seeds and powders. The writing is in latin. the script thin and narrow and in his mother’s hand. Some of the spices are mixed up. Must have happened when they dropped the trunk.

Steve comes up behind him and asks with curiosity, “What’s all this?” and sneezes.

“Bless you. Stuff from my mother's attic. She never used to let me up there, and Becca said I could have anything I wanted so I figured I’d take a gander. Any idea what spices these are?”

Bucky hands up the case, which Steve takes and pokes at some of the contents before handing it back. “No idea. Must be french or something.”

Bucky hums in acknowledgement and sets it aside, pulling the last few objects from the trunk and placing them in the proper piles before he picks up a hand broom to sweep out some broken glass. “You should see the toy wand, it’s pretty neat.”

“Toy wand?” 

“Yeah that over there.” he waves with the dustpan at the ebony wand, which is stuck in the soup pot.

Steve walks over and picks it up while Bucky finishes cleaning out the inside of the trunk. Looking up when Steve sits down beside him, Bucky watches Steve admire the carvings, then grin before giving it a wave. 

Nothing happens.

“Huh.” Bucky muses, “Must be broken.”

* * *

**Spring 1941**

“Stevie, you home?” Bucky yells up generally into the apartment, kicking the door closed behind him. He puts the meat next to the stove, and tosses the mail on the table. No answer, so Steve must still be out. Maybe he can surprise him with his new job and a good meal. He washes his hands and gets to work making pork chops. They were celebrating! Finally some regular work. This job would hopefully allow him to bring in some extra. Maybe Steve could even take some art classes and open a studio or something. The money from the auction had lasted along time, but he wanted to keep at least some of it in reserve in case of emergency. He should call Becca over too, and let her know things were finally looking up!

Once the chops were in the oven along with some veggies; Bucky gets himself a glass of water and flops down into one of the kitchen chairs. He pulls the stack of mail over and starts to flip through, wondering if there is anything for him. Bill, bill, one for Stevie, ah, this one's for him. He shifts his gaze up to see who it's from, and freezes. 

No. 

Dropping the rest of the mail on the table, he quickly rips the envelope open, pulling the short letter out with shaking hands. 

Drafted. He’s been drafted.

What is he going to  _ do?  _

Worse, what is he going to tell Steve. 

* * *

**October, 1941**

It’s cold out. Steve knows it’s probably a bad idea since he’s already sick, but he needs to get some stuff off his chest, so here he is. Putting a single rose on the headstone, he sits down beside the grave, and pulls his jacket over his knees to keep some heat in. 

“Hey Ma. So. I know it’s been a while, and I’m sorry, but it’s been hard lately. You know about the war and all, but what you don’t know is that I think I should join up. I know, I know. You think it’s a bad idea. You’d be proud of Bucky, he’s been trying to talk me out of it too, but what you don’t know is that he’s already doing his part. He’s even made corporal already! He volunteered for some specialty training. I just…”

He exhales, and is silent for quite a while. “I just want to be a man. I want to do my part too.”

He shivers as the wind blows some leaves past, and he can feel drops of water hit his face as it begins to sprinkle. He stands back up, brushing himself off and then rests his hand on top of the headstone. “I miss you ma. I miss Bucky too, the…” His voice cuts off as he starts coughing, his most recent cold getting the best of him for a moment.

“Aww, you miss me?” Steve spins around, staring in disbelief as Bucky walks over to him, still in uniform, but missing his duffle. “Hey Stevie.” He smiles and then glances up at the sky, “I thought you might be here. What say we get inside before it starts to pour, huh?”

Steve beams, his happiness obvious on his face, rushing forward to give Bucky a tight hug. “Bucky! When did you..How…” He steps back and punches him in the arm, rather ineffectively, “I thought you wouldn’t be back until next week?”

“Yeah well, I wanted to surprise you. Let's go home?” The sky takes that opportunity to open, and they run back to the street to call a taxi.

* * *

**December 4th, 1941**

“Steve, you don’t need to do this. We can go home and find some other way for you to help.” James grabs Steve’s arm and turns to face him again, going over the old argument. “You know I’m going to be back at training for a while after next week, I just want to enjoy some time with my best friend.” 

"Look, I know you don't think I can do this–" Steve starts, defensive.

"This isn't a back alley, Steve. It's war! Why are you so keen to fight? There are so many important jobs." The last is said with resignation as Steve brushes angrily past him, and heads into the recruitment center. Steve signs in and is ushered straight back. Bucky waves the receptionist off and sits in one of the lobby seats with a sigh. He’ll be here when Steve gets out to pick his buddy back up and put him back together, again. How many times is Steve going to do this to himself before he gets the hint?

An hour later Steve storms back through, and then turns on him as soon as they both get outside. “Fine! You were right. They won’t take me. I’m..I’m defective.”

Bucky just sighs, wrapping an arm around Steve’s shoulders and leads him off, “You’re perfect Stevie. Let's go get shit-faced and find you a girl. Things’ll be okay.”

* * *

_ February 15th, 1942 _

_ Dear Rebecca, _

_ I’m writing just as I promised, and this time, I even have something to say! (And yes, I know this is short, but at least I’m sending something of an update?) Training is finally done, and I am both happy it’s over and dreading what’s to come. I’ve been assigned, and I’ll be  _ [CENSORED BY THE MILITARY POST OFFICE]. _ They are letting me go home for a few weeks before we ship out, will you be able to come see me off? Please don’t tell Stevie I’ll be home, it’s too fun to surprise him. Is he doing any better? Thank you for looking in on him while he’s been sick. I am sure he appreciates it, even if he’s bad at showing his gratitude. I appreciate it for both of us.  _

_ So, you asked for a funny story, with all the bad news lately, and I think I found one. Did you know there is an outfit somewhere in Poland with an actual bear? I would be offended that the bear is the same rank as me, but I am more amused that they got away with having a bear. Maybe I’ll find a monkey or something to be our mascot and you can compare our looks. _

_ Are you seriously seeing that heel, Proctor? Sure he’s a doctor, but he always struck me as an idiot. I just want you to be happy, and I worry. If you say he’s the one for you, I’ll believe it, but forgive me if I’m not holding my breath for this one. No one is good enough for my best sister. _

_ Come pick me up from the depot? I’ll be there at 10 on the 20th. If you can’t make it, I’ll catch a cab, so don’t worry if you have plans. I’ll swing by and see you after I surprise Stevie.  _

_ Take care, for the both of us, Becca. I’ll see you soon. _

_ Your bestest Brother, _

_ James _

* * *

**March 13th, 1942**

“You _promised_ , Stevie!” Barns accuses, starting to lose his cool, “I saved your ass last week when you almost got mugged. And then again this morning when you picked another fight. What is the matter with you? It doesn’t make you less of a man to help with the war from here! You have nothing to prove! Tonight we’re going out and we’re going to have a good time.” 

Steve runs his fingers through his hair, and looks across the table at Barns who has his jaw set. He could tell he was about to lose his temper. He always looked so smooth in uniform. He just - doesn’t want to be a disappointment again. _Who are these girls anyway._ They never want him, just his perfect, ridiculously rugged friend. 

Setting his hands back on the table he leans forward as he pleads, “It won’t take long. I just..I need to try again. I’m _sure_ I can get them to take me this time.”

“ _Aaargh!_ You are so frustrating!” Barns stands angrily, shoving the chair into place under the table as he begins to pace. “It’s my _last_ night in town Stevie.” He can feel the bitter disappointment settle into his chest. He’s doing it again. “The girls are waiting for us. If we don’t dance with them who will? He gestures to the dance floor, where both of their dates are swaying to the music while others swing.

He paces in an agitated circle, Steve silent and sad, and he can never stand sad Stevie. Sad Stevie is the worst. He yanks the chair out again and sits down with a huff, “Fine.” Steve grins and Bucky begins to bargain, “I’ll go keep them company, and you come right back, okay?”

Gabbing Bucky’s hand Steve shakes it once, still grinning, “You have yourself a deal Mister.”

* * *

Hours later Bucky is sitting by himself at the kitchen table, nursing another scotch. It’s late, and Steve _still_ isn’t home. He’s not sure if he should be angry or worried or both. Sure the date was fun: he ended up dancing with both of the girls, but why did Steve smoke them like that? It’s his _last_ _night in town!_

Downing his glass he stands again, pacing is his default setting while upset, but he’s sliding quickly into worry. Maybe he should go check the recruiting station? He should have been home by now!

He hears the door shut and is about to start angrily demanding answers when a jubilant Steve busts into the kitchen. “I’m going! Bucky! They took me, I’m going to be there with you, every step of the way!”

Suddenly his fury dissipates into shock. 

They actually took him. 

Then his anger returns, “ _What?!_ You left me there with the girls. And _now_ you tell me you’re going to go get yourself killed? What about taking care of Becca for me? I need you here. I need you  _ safe!” _

Steve flinches with surprise at his vehemence, and then he quickly gets red and flustered when he starts to yell back, “You can’t go by yourself. I’m just as much a man as you. They want me too! They want me!”

After yelling at each other for a while, Steve takes a swing at him and Bucky staggers back, the taste of blood in his mouth. He shoves Steve in return, and immediately feels remorse when Steve hits the wall and crumples in pain, coughing and unable to catch his breath. “Stevie!” 

Bucky quickly moves to help him up, and gets him sat down at the table. Where did he put the cigarettes - that’s what the doctor had prescribed for his asthma, wasn’t it? Where are they? 

He can hear Steve still gasping for breath in the background while he runs into the living room and starts pulling stuff out of drawers and searching surfaces. Wait...what about those potions. Wasn’t there something in that stuff about breathing or air?

He flings open the trunk and digs out the case of glass bottles. Staggering back into the kitchen, he starts pulling bottles out and trying to decipher the latin on the labels. “Hold on Stevie, something here will ‘elp.” He pulls a few at random: Um..hair potion - no. Growth...something, no. Um..something..luck. He dumps some of that one into the empty glass from his scotch, and keeps looking. A couple others also get emptied into the glass, and he pushes them into Steve’s hands, “Here, that should help. Can’t find the cigarettes Stevie. You’re right. You’re right. I’m sorry. Just…”

Bucky slumps into the other chair, and watches his friend anxiously as he sips the odd concoction, finishing his thought in a long resigned exhale, “I leave tomorrow Stevie. I just want you to be safe.”

Eventually Steve catches his breath, finishing off the glass while making a bit of a face. Then he reaches out to pour both of them a glass of scotch, sliding one over to James to get his attention, “I know. I know, Bucky. You’ve always taken care of me. Let me try to take care of you, ok? Let's just...enjoy the rest of the evening.”

More than an hour and another bottle of scotch later the bell rings, and Bucky manages to get to the door and lead his sister back to the kitchen. Stevie is almost passed out, the lightweight, but he waves and smiles at Becca before resting his head on the table. Bucky is subjected to being yelled at again when Becca sees the remains of the potions case on the table. He explains with slurred words what happened, and she gets steadily angrier. “What were you thinking! It could have _terrible_ consequences mixing things together willy nilly!” She yells, having pulled out another of those toy wands and is waving it around Steve, who giggles about it being pretty. 

“I jus’ wanted to keep ‘im safe. He’s going to war Bekks, Heess...tiny. Aassthma. I neeed’im safe.” Bucky idly notes that her toy wand makes more colors than his does. Maybe she got hers at coney island.

“God save me from drunk idiots. Well, you seem to be okay, for now. Both of you to bed before I hex you both!”

Bucky staggers up, knowing when to get out while he still can, and heads toward the stairs. Behind him he can hear his sister, voice still shaking with emotion, “Sorry Steven. I know he means well. _Obliviate_.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come check out our discord! https://discord.gg/Ve7xm2


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